


I Shall Not Live in Vain

by MimeontheHill



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Conspiracies, Drama, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Humor, Kidnapping, M/M, adventure in the later chapters, don't worry this is not Stockholm, im trying bear with me ok, not meant to be Cold War but it has some elements, tags may go up., thieves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-09-27 13:08:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20408269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimeontheHill/pseuds/MimeontheHill
Summary: A life of peace and quiet- That's all what former thief Ivan Braginsky was longing for. Unfortunately when a mysterious group forces him into kidnapping a young journalist, his wish is thrown away from him and he gets trapped in a tangled cat-and-mouse game, uncovering things that he should not, even, be allowed to know that exist.





	1. Chapter 1

FZZZZZTTTT… FZZZZZTTTT……

“_Oh, for fuck sake!” _

Ivan Braginsky slammed his hand on the radio in frustration. That was his latest attempt to make the thing work and no results came from it. The static sound that the electronic made endlessly was driving him to the brim of annoyance at this point. Now he knew why its previous owners sold it so cheap. 

“Work. Work. Work.” He said in an emotionless mantra, now tapping the wooden surface gently in hopes of magically making it work.  
But instead of that, the radio turned off.

The ash-blonde slumped into his chair, defeated. Maybe he should just throw the radio in the trash and buy a new one. 

No, wait, he couldn't. His current situation wouldn't allow it.  


It had been a week since he was fired from his job, the third in that month. His boss labeled him as incompetent. Technically, it was not his fault. Porcelain was a fragile material. Their client had carelessly placed porcelain without the proper care along with other kitchen utensils, like forks and knives. When they arrived at the destination, the Oriental dragon tea set had been reduced to shards and dust. But his boss was too proud and arrogant to admit he was wrong. In his mind, firing an employee was easier than paying the damage done to the thing. 

The ash-blonde sighed. Getting employed these days was hard. Keeping the job was even harder. He rubbed his forehead trying to think of a solution. Maybe after he gets a new job, he should spend the rest of the day moonlighting something. Perhaps he could sing in some busy bar. 

“No.” He said do himself. He couldn’t do that. There was a chance he could get recognized. He didn't want that. 

He directed his blank stare to the wall behind him. Dull and colorless like every other wall in the house. Yesterday, he wanted to buy a sunflower painting he saw in the streets and put in that spot. He could have bought it, but no. There was no use other than decorating. He followed a rule: if it's useful, and if you can afford it, buy it. Most of the money he was able to raise was spent on food and income. Unless if you count a money bag that he hid under the bed. A bag that he swore never to use, unless in something very serious, like a life-threatening situation, or if he had to move from that place. To summarize it, a survival depending situation. He would never spend it unless his life depended on it. Dishwater, a new radio, fancy paintings and whatever he thought it was necessary for a household had to wait until he was in a stable job where he could safely get his money from. 

He turned to the radio again. Ivan decided to take one last chance. He turned the radio on again and spun one of the buttons slowly, waiting for something else to appear beside the static. 

“Come on, come on…” 

His patience finally paid well as a station devoid of static appeared. The before-useless radio was now playing a slow accordion melody.

The sweet sound of the instrument made him nostalgic. He associated these tunes with good, long left behind times.  
  
Ivan was reminded of a time where everything was easy. His father owned an accordion. Almost every night when he came back from work, he would play the instrument, and Ivan and his sisters would dance and sing. Laughter, sounds of snow being stepped, handclaps and music would mix under the night sky. Life was good then.

But according to the tragic laws of life, good things don't stay good forever. A severe crisis came to their country, leaving a large part of the population unemployed and, little by little, starving the poorest. The crops withered and the animals became sick. Death was claiming their surroundings, and their fear was absolute. Ivan recorded himself at a much younger age, wailing to his mother, that they were going to be next, each time a tragedy occurred near them. Their cow had died, the hay had wilted, the only thing that had to yet to die was the family itself.

But one day, oh one day, their hopes were reignited. The house was in joy. Father, after struggling for months and a long battle with the system, finally managed to acquire a passport for each of them. They could now leave that land if they needed. And so they did. Since the beginning, the parents had eyed a place down southwest Europe. A place where according to them, things were better and happier: Germany.

According to Father, Germany was a wonderful place. It was a safe land to live, and work. Warm summers and stunning sceneries, a stable economy, lots of opportunities, he ensured that as soon they settled in there, they would find a job and restart life. Mother also made promises to them, like a comfy house, new friends, and their own business. She promised days filled with sunshine and happiness for the whole family. 

But as soon as the family arrived in their new home, father fell ill, followed by mother soon after. The hard-working image that the parents had portrayed to their children their entire life had disappeared and the couple was reduced to bedridden weaklings. They had to depend on their eldest daughter to help them do everyday tasks, like eating or going to the bathroom. The cycle continued like this for days and days, their situation worsening slowly and slowly until they arrived at their limit. 

The last time Ivan ever saw his parents alive was when they went to the hospital, father with a fever that gave an impression of he was burning, and mother coughing like her life depended on it. Katyusha led them since they could barely stand in their feet. They didn't come back that night, neither the next morning. Natalya clung to him, fear and sadness present in her expression and afraid of losing her brother as well. Ivan hugged her, gently caressing her back, whispering words of comfort that he barely knew and uncertain of the future. 

That night, Katyusha came back.

He remembered the pain in his elder sister's eyes and voice when she communicated her siblings about the fate of their parents. He remembered little Natalya's crying, seeking the warmth of Katyusha's embrace. He recorded himself mourning the loss, coming to the couple's bedroom, but not finding them there anymore. The following days would no longer be filled with happiness and hope, but instead, with sorrow and solitude, crying, anger with whatever ruled how things went and no anticipation for tomorrow.

Katyusha dropped all her compromises she had with education and worked hard on the first job she could find. And she worked and worked and worked. Most of the time, she wouldn’t be home until late at 11 pm, leaving Ivan and Natalya alone in the house. The sugar-coated reality that their parents promised was burnt to the ground and life turned tables at them, wanting to test if they could survive in a unfamiliar and seemingly somber place. 

And that was the routine of what was left of the Braginsky family, until that one particular night, which shaped the following years. Morals were dropped in favor of survival, and the three siblings took a dangerous and risky route in their lives. And the route led them to another particular night that separated each one of them and led them to where they were now.

_Ugh, Not Again._ He was on the memories train again. Remembering all of this made him feel more useless than before.

He lit his pipe. Maybe smoking would calm him down and drive the memories away. 

From what he heard from work colleagues, a woman that matched Katyusha in terms of traits and behavior, managed to open a shop somewhere on the other side of the city. And that her business was doing well. He never got to congratulate her though. Ivan never spoke to her again after that event. Every once in awhile, he wanted to be there, see her again. But he never set out to go. 

Awkwardness? Yeah, maybe that could be a cause too.  
  
But maybe the main reason he didn’t go to see her was that he didn’t want to get himself and into trouble again. That was only a theory he developed to himself, but after a while, maybe his subconscious took it as a fact and forbade him from going far from home. 

But one thing was true. Missing. He deeply missed the company of his sisters.

He reflected on each one’s current situation. If the woman was, in fact, Katya, then she was the only one who managed to grow in life. Katyusha had a business, a place where she could get her money from and secure everything. Ivan was secluded to this tiny apartment in the suburbs that he, somehow, managed to rent with the economies he saved through life.  
  
And Natalya…  
  
Natalya...Natalya was nowhere to be found. Nobody knew her whereabouts. She simply vanished off the map as if she wasn’t important to them anymore. There were times where she talked about leaving the country. Maybe she did it. 

Ivan's thoughts were interrupted by a constant knocking on the door.  
His Romanian neighbor Vladislav was standing before him, in his pajamas and had his arms crossed in an act of disapproval. 

"Can you _please_ turn down the music?" He asked in an irritated tone. "My family and I are trying to sleep. You shouldn’t play this thing so late." He then pointed to the clock in the living room

Ivan glanced over the room in confusion. The clock was now ticking midnight. Oh, that’s why he felt so tired. And that's why he was one of the very few lights still lit on the building.

“Oh, right. Sorry, sorry.”

Hearing the apology, Vladislav sighed and bade the Russian goodnight, leaving to his home upstairs. 

Since there was nothing left for him to do, he turned off the lights and went to bed. Maybe he could think of new a solution for his troubles tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Come back here!” _

_"Go!" Katyusha commanded," Don't look behind, just go!"_

_The trio ran through the roofs, the onyx collar shaking under Natalya's grasp, the cold night wind stinging them through their sprinting. A security alarm had gone off and now they were running for their lives. Each one of them was doing something to slow their pursuers down. Natalya was shooting the wires down while holding the item they stole on the other arm. Katyusha was making silent prayers for the group to arrive home safely while she leaded the way , and Ivan was throwing the homemade smoke bombs they had learnt to fabricate with sugar and sulfur behind them. _

_The jewelry store was one of the busiest places on the avenue. It was famous for its high-quality products, that had little to no defect. Because of that, it attracted a lot of rich people, and sometimes a few moneyed tourists. The shop owners have taken several measures to keep the store well guarded at night. Despite having a moderately competent security system, getting the defenses down was not hard. The key was electricity. By cutting off the electricity on the avenue, there was no possibility of them being caught by the street or the store cameras. With quick hands, Natalya managed to turn off the power of the place and they entered the store without a problem._ _ However, their handmade blackout was brief. They only had time to cut the glass over the jewel they targeted. The siblings only realized that they we're in trouble had returned when the necklace was removed, blowing an alarm that went off when any kind of gemstone in the store was removed from their stand. Now they were running for their lives, hoping to return home safe and sound, which by this rate was unlikely._ _They reached the peak of the building. There were no ladders. No rope. Nothing. There were red and blue lights down in the avenue. The authority had finally arrived._

_"Jump!” _

===  
Thursdays were a bit different from the rest of the week.

It was during Thursdays that Ivan would leave his home (or hiding place as he called) and instead of aimlessly wandering the streets like he did most of the time, he would go to town to buy supplements and wash his clothes on the De Vries family laundromat, run by Lars De Vries, an aloof non-nonsense Dutchman that Ivan knew from one of his past jobs.  


Lars and Ivan weren't exactly friends. The Dutch tended to make snarky comments under his breath basically any time Ivan tried to speak with him and the Russian answered by insulting him subtly sometimes. However the light brunette was trying to promote his family business, and since Ivan didn't have a place to wash his clothing, now that the washing machine in his house was now broken, he reluctantly went to the place, since there weren’t other available options. Over time, Ivan learned to keep his mouth shut, and they were able to coexist pacifically in the same place, the only thing they traded now being glares.

As soon as he entered the place, however, lime green eyes glared him and a slight accusatory voice spoke:

“There you are! You’re like, 12 minutes late than the usual.”

Lars wasn’t there today. In his place stood a girl, slighter younger than him, wearing a red headband. 

Emma was there again.

The girl greeted him behind the counter. Emma was Lars's assistant and younger sister. Whenever Lars wasn't present, Emma was the one who ran and took care of the laundromat. But she treated other people very differently from Lars. In contrast to her brother's withdrawn and indifferent nature, Emma was cheeky and good-natured, always willing to help a person in need, especially if that person happened to be needful of aiding, like Ivan. If the Russian wasn't greeted with Lars's almost emotionless face and look, then he would surely meet with Emma's warm and friendly smile. The girl was the closest thing Ivan had as a friend. 

“I’m sorry.” Ivan gave her an apologetic smile.” There were a lot of scattered clothes on the floor. It took me time to pick them all.”

“That’s ok." She smiled back. "I thought you got caught in trouble or something. Streets are getting dangerous these days.” 

They continued to trade smiles until Ivan opened the door of a front-row machine and began placing his garments on it, but before he could put a coin and turn the electronic on, Emma stopped him.

"Wait, wait. This one's broken. Gilbert managed to trap a coin into the spinning motor and since last week, it hasn’t worked anymore. Lars said he was going to call someone to fix it but nobody came.”

Oh, well. Emma was being helpful again like she always did. If Lars was there, he would’ve been silent and would watch Ivan's frustration when he discovered that the machine wouldn't work without moving a finger. 

“Where’s your brother?” He asked out of politeness, not really interested in Lars's situation.

"He stayed home. Ben got sick again." 

Oh right, Ben. According to Emma, he was the family's youngest son, who also according to her, tended to be sick. Most of the time, he was the cause of Lars staying home and Emma coming to take care of the place. Somehow, Lars could take care of Ben better than her.

“You should visit our place sometime. My grandfather said he wanted to meet you.”

"I can't. You know I’m busy." He replied, in a slightly serious tone. Not that he wanted to displease her, he just wasn't ready to step in another's floor for now. 

“You’re always busy, Ivan. Now that we’re on the topic, what is your job again?” 

A knot formed in his throat. He couldn't think of words to reply to the question. He knew that if he tried to brush it away, Emma would lecture him about him avoiding help. That was not true at all. He just couldn't communicate with people openly as he did before. A mixture of fear and anxiety prevented him from stepping outside the safe zone and take risks. If it wasn't for the dread of things going wrong, maybe he would be more outgoing, bolder and things would go on smoother. 

But he wasn't any of that.

Ivan didn’t talk. He turned his blank stare to the electronic where his clothes were and observed it work. 

“You got fired again, didn’t you?”

Once again, Ivan didn’t answer, continuing to stare at his clothes swirling inside the washing machine. Emma just sighed. 

“Listen, a friend of ours, Antonio, recently opened a restaurant not too many blocks away from here. He said he was looking for assistants since he and his right-hand Lovino can’t do all the work by themselves. You should check it out.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ivan said, brief melancholy in his voice. He didn't say yes, but he also wasn’t saying no. He didn’t promise anything.

Emma grinned again. 

“Don’t think I’ll give up on you easily, Ivan. Some people like you deserve to be happy and free from worries, and I'll not stop looking for an opportunity to give it to you.”

Hearing her declaration made him tilt his head in a calm smile. Emma was so adorable sometimes, saying things she barely knew about. Her words brought some comfort though. These were the words he secretly liked to hear when he was in turbulent times. One of the things he missed about Katyusha was the promises that everything would be all right. And somehow, everything ended relatively fine. Well, at least when there were no losses and when they've managed to arrive home not wounded or frustated. But when the Russian and his sisters were together, everything was good. As neither of them was there anymore, while Emma didn't fit their niche, she provided some comfort for Ivan with her friendly comfort and warm talks, as the small family did for each other before. That was all he needed to keep going. Someone to care for him and tell that the future will be ok. 

Ivan left the laundromat more confident than before. The interaction with Emma had taken his anxieties away for a while and now he could think of plans to get a job in a more relaxed manner, some new choices appearing in his head.

He reflected on the girl’s suggestion. It had been a long time since he cooked. Usually, he resorted to the frozen or canned goods he often found in the supermarket. And also eggs, but eggs were relatively easy to prepare. He didn't think his cooking skills would take him far. Even Katyusha and Natalya were far better cookers than him. He also didn't want to deal with new demanding and hurrying bosses, since his last job had left him with a sour taste in the mouth.

Cooking could be useful now, though. He was tired of eating the same conserved peas, the same canned beans. Even though he was not in a good financial situation, he wanted to eat something different at once. An old book he had kept to read contained a detailed scene of a couple eating in a restaurant. One of the dinner's highlights was the grilled salmon. The highly informative description of the scene left him craving the delicacy. 

But there was no way he could afford it, at least now. Salmon was expensive in those days. It was something reserved for wealthy people like Lord Edelstein or Miss Elizaveta who lived their days partying as if it was a job. Well, Mrs. Elizaveta at least. Lord Edelstein spent most of his time abroad playing the role of ambassador. He was an important person, signing papers and meeting foreign people. He followed a cycle. He traveled, spent time in another country, then come back. Most of his travels were restricted to Europe, but there were talks that he was going to travel to America recently. 

Travel ... Natalya. Oh, where Natalya had gone ....

He looked to the bag where some of his wardrobes were in and gave a small satisfied smile. One of the tasks, which was washing the clothes was done. The next thing he had to do was getting to the grocery store and buy the supplements that had run out throughout the week. After that, he would head home and possibly sit on that chair on the living room and stare at that same blank wall he always stared and think on his choices again. OK, maybe that would be too dull. He could read a book. Yeah, perhaps he could spend the rest of the afternoon in some kind of alternate world via reading. That would be nicer than starting a wall and doing absolutely nothing. 

However when he turned the corner, the Slav found himself feeling a strange sensation of discomfort . Today was odd. The street he would've to walk to go to the grocery store was a little deserted today. There wasn’t a single living person. Just a flock of birds looking for food. A stray dog scratching his tail. A white-faced person watching him from afar.

Wait, what?

Ivan blinked. He thought he had seen a black and white figure observing him across the street, but there was nothing that could match it in his field of vision. Maybe the afternoon sun was making him see things. 

However, the afternoon sun justification didn't apply to sounds as it did to sight. Not too long after he saw the thing, the Russian started to hear hurried footprints behind him. 

He looked to the source.

Nothing.

Ivan started walking fast out of precaution, a new wave of worry beginning to invade his thoughts. Usually, when things were calm like that, it was either because it was a calm day or there was something fishy going on. He had known this since his burglary days and he didn’t want to run into another situation like those before. His days of stealing were over, and now he was trying to live a honest life. 

He glanced around. The illusion of the masked figure was no longer an illusion as he thought. A living being crossed the street and was now walking fast behind him. 

Panic flooded his brain. The ash-blonde chose to run.

He raced through the alleys, gasping frantically as he tried to find a way back to the building that he resided but not finding results. The masked figure was still chasing him, agile as a predator going after the prey. The back of houses passed swiftly thought them as if they were in movement. The ash-blonde forced the brain to try to remember a shortcut, but nothing appeared in his mind. 

Then Ivan ran into a dead end. That was it. It's over. It was coming to get him now. He couldn’t try to do the jumping from wall to wall as he did back in the day since the walls there were too far for him to do that. There was no other way around. He was trapped like a mouse. He didn’t know what was going to happen. Maybe he was getting robbed, or in the worst case, killed. 

_Shash___

_ __ _

He felt something sharp and cold near his skin. The Russian looked down. A black-gloved hand was now holding a knife inches away from his neck. He winced slightly.

Don't move." A raspy voice talked behind him.

He looked over the corner of his eye. An individual was dressed all in black, except for a plastic white mask that hid their face. Little by little, the masked person was being joined by about ten other people wearing the same outfit. The group gathered around Ivan, trapping him where he was.

This was getting dangerous. A group of masked people was now surrounding him, and judging by the one who was pointing the blade, they were seemingly armed. He sweated cold. He had no weapons. The only thing that he had that was close to being classified as a weapon was a butter knife he borrowed from the neighbors, and yet, it was too round to do any damage. 

The knife-wielding one took the weapon down. He spoke again in the same raspy voice, the exact threatening tone as before.

“Come with us. There is no choice for you now.”


	3. quick memo

Hey readers! Sorry for the lack of updates. Lack of motivation and other fandoms kept me away from this story. But don't worry, chapter 3 will happen! Maybe by Mid-to-late November it will be finished! Thanks for sticking with it so far!


	4. Chapter 4

“Alfred, your little tyke. Stop your paperwork and look at me."

The young journalist known as Alfred F. Jones turned his look from the typewriter and stared at his boss and paternal figure, Arthur Kirkland who was currently standing before his desk, an irritated gesture in his fuzzy brows. Well, nothing new. He always behaved like that, except to congratulate someone on their birthday or give someone praise for their writing. Even then, both of these events were rare.

“Oh hello, Artie! Need something?” he said jovially.

“Yes, I need you to stop typing on this gosh-darned thing and look at me. You need a bloody break.” His tone sounded harsher than the other times, showcasing his criticizing side more than before.

Alfred's smile vanished and he sighed deadpan. "What's the matter this time?" His friendly manner immediately disappeared after listening to other's strict tone. That exact voice always meant that another lecture was coming to him. Arthur always had this irritating habit of pontificating him, even when he didn't do anything wrong. Most of the time, it was just him acting more like a journal critic rather than his boss, and this annoyed the honey blonde to the brim. He didn't need correcting. He knew what he was doing most of the time. Unfortunately, Arthur didn't seem to notice.

"Don't try to hide this nonsense behind your back. I've observed your behavior lately. You always get here earlier than everyone. Then you start typing on this thing as if your life depends on it until everyone has left and you're the only one in this room, besides the janitor."

"Artie, this is just me doing my job. Is there something wrong with that?" He questioned, slightly incredulous. Of all things. this was worthy of him complaining? He always presented himself as a young man full of energy and ready to do his job and now he was getting chided for that?

"This wouldn't be problematic at first, of course. But I've found thousands of empty cups of coffee on your trash can. And according to Matthew, you've barely got any sleep lately. I barely see you eating, even on the lunch break. The circles under your eyes are getting darker and darker every day. This is getting erratic, even if some good articles are coming from you lately."

The honey blonde frowned. Ok, maybe he was drinking a bit more coffee than the usual, but that didn't mean he was getting off rails. The liquid helped to make him keen and increase his disposition to work in that place. As long as he knew, his health and disposition were almost 100 % intact and he had no sight of sickness problems like asthma or anything like that. This is what put his uncle Alastor in the hospital when he overworked. The only things that bothered him were the recent nights with insomnia and a small pain he felt on his right wrist that made him grumble in a hiss every day, but even that wasn't impeding him from writing. He was proud that his articles were called good and he would do the best he could to keep them going in that direction.

The newsroom door opened and two people entered. One of them was a young man wearing a baggy trench coat, holding a camera in his hands. If it was not for the curly hair and round glasses, and maybe the redder tone of his locks, he could easily pass as an Alfred duplicate.

"Oh, Matthew's here already,"

Alfred and Matthew were brothers but they differentiated themselves from each other in more than one thing. The two of them worked on the same branch that was journalism but in different areas. Matthew was a photographer. While Alfred stayed in the office, writing articles and reports, Matthew spent most of his time outside, taking pictures for his press colleagues. But when he had time, he offered a hand to his coworkers. Alfred, on the other hand, always had his full attention to his work and nothing else more. Even he if enjoyed chit-chatting with his coworkers sometimes, he always put his workability on a higher pedestal than anything else. Matthew was more relaxed and modest and Alfred was workaholic and lightly boisterous. In the most recent days, he became fully devoted to his typewriter and barely said hi to his coworkers. According to himself, "it was just a boost of energy coupled with another boost of motivation to write." The colleague next to him, Ouston, jokingly said that he had been married to the coffee machine, since on the very small moments where he wasn't working, Alfred was next to the coffee machine, filling the biggest cup he could find with the dark liquid.

"Matthew, good to see you. Your brother is giving me another migraine."

The round bespectacled blonde put his camera on the desk and raised his brows, though he didn't seem alarmed. It was like he was used to it, but the revelation had caught him slightly off guard.

"What? Is he overworking again?" He said his expected estimative.

"Geez, Mattie! Not you too!" Alfred hissed, feeling betrayed by his brother.

"Al, it's not my fault you're working like you were sentenced to life. You should take a break some times." Matthew said in a low voice, not letting himself being hurt by his brother's hissing.

"Are you here to defend me or yourself?" Alfred was starting to get impatient with both his boss and his brother. "And Arthur, if I cant, please you, then who can?" He pointed to the oldest blonde with an accusatory tone in his voice. He didn't notice that his right hand was trembling and he let out a cough. And another. And another one. His eyes somewhat widened and he flew a hand to his head, getting slowly disappointed with himself. What was this sudden fall on his health? He hadn't done anything brusque, did he? The only things he'd been doing lately was writing and drinking coffee but neither of them seemed prejudicial to his well being. Arthur examined his workplace and another frown appeared in his face.

"Al, where's the jacket?"

"What?" He asked in a irritated tone.

"Don't tell me you came here without a jacket. Fall is starting and nobody shouldn't walk without a jacket or coat."

"Artie, I'm not a fledgling baby bird. I don't need jackets to go outside." Arthur has a point. Summer was long gone and the days were getting chilly. However he didn't let the cold bother him. Keeping warm wasn't one of his priorities right now. He had a pullover but that was enough.

"Nobody is saying that, bro. Now relax." Matthew tried to calm him down, concern in his eyes, but Alfred gave him an angry stare.

"Don't you start taking sides, Matt!! " He got up and almost shouted. Some of his neighboring coworkers shoot them a curious look, wondering what was going on. The honey blonde noticed the unwanted audience and sat down again, forcing himself to calm down. The whole world was turning against him and he didn't was happy with this. Only because he was working as every journalist should. No even more. As the typical journalist should. He was just doing what the job demanded from him, nothing wrong with that. He was just doing his job.

"Alright, boys, enough!" Arthur placed himself between the two brothers. He stared at Alfred with infuriated emerald eyes and spoke what he was meaning to say since morning.

"Stay here until 4 o'clock. Then go home. You're excused for the rest of the week."

The anger in the blonde's eyes disappeared and was replaced with silent despair.

"Arthur, please, this is...." He tried to speak, but Arthur shot him down again.

"No excuses. You need to take care of yourself before writing. Go read some books, watch a movie, walk in a park, anything! Just don't show up here anymore."

Alfred just looked at him dumbfounded. After some seconds, he returned the look to his typewriter and mumbled a small " Alright." He hadn't the energy to continue this argument anymore now that he had been beaten. He just returned to what he was writing in a silent melancholy. Matthew sighed and went back to his cubicle. Arthur look softened a little when Alfred became silent. He loved him as he would love his son, but sometimes, he was so stubborn and so insistent that it would cause him problems, both for him and for the office. His energetic demeanor was one of the traits he liked the most, but it would drive him the wrong places frequently. He just gave the honey blonde one final look and went back to his desk.

The morning eventually gave place to afternoon, and before Alfred could notice the passing of the time, it was already 4 o'clock. The blonde sighed sadly. He gave his beloved typewriter a final look before leaving his desk and heading to the exit, having to wait for another week to step there again. Writing with a pencil wasn't the same thing as writing with a typewriter, and since he hadn't one at home, a pencil would have to do if he wanted to write again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay


End file.
